


Behind the Iron Castle Wall

by FalliciousPuns



Series: Fiedler's Llamas [8]
Category: The Spy Who Came in from the Cold - John Le Carré
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Cold War, Gen, M/M, Mind Control, and whatever the other people's powers are, control is a snake, fiedler's magical backstory, in this house we love and respect female characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-23 20:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11409459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalliciousPuns/pseuds/FalliciousPuns
Summary: Alec watched through the darkness the tiny glimmering spotlight shining on the body in the snow.  God, he thought, God it’s cold.  He pulled an amulet from his jacket and squeezed it.  Warmth flowed through his body, though the emptiness still remained._ _ _You're a little demented, Jens I'll give you that.  The zeal with which you enjoy making others twitch is all too frightening.”  The man grinned, exposing teeth.  “You're perfect.”(Everything is the same, but there's magic)





	1. The Players

_The more you know about a person, the easier it is to control them._

_The more the whisper in their ear sounds like their own voice, the easier it is to make someone utterly yours._

 ---

One was never themselves around the interrogator. Of course, they could have been if they’d wanted to, but it wasn’t as if they had any choice.

Lies seemed to melt away, half formed, before the truth spilled from their lips, called from within them by some undeniable force. Half-hidden suspicions about people’s well loved neighbors were artfully teased from them, before the speaker, horrified at betraying their friends, had time to realize that they had condemned someone else to die.

Free will was an illusion to him. A pitiful little hope held by people too desperate to see the truth of things. But it was easily rectified, for all he needed were a few minutes and suddenly they could see the truth- the truth that he bent them into seeing.

How many dissenters had been brought to him? Their minds ‘changed’, their morals ‘rectified’. Fiedler had countless imperialists twisted around his finger, many of them intelligence officers that had gotten too close. Counter-revolutionaries he drew to him were crafted into dedicated servants of the Party.

There had been a student too, a brilliant mind preaching to his university friends in back rooms, passing around forbidden capitalist leaflets and explaining free market economics in hushed tones. He had been taken to a private tutoring session with Fiedler. Only an hour long, but an hour was all it took for a complete remoralization.

These had been old missions however- from when he hadn’t yet attained mastery over his powers, when he still had been unable to bend the strongest of minds to his will.

He was different now, of course. His job now was to break only the strongest minds. The ones that could resist, or the ones that also had the magic. He was to break them. Completely and utterly, to lay bare every secret, to control every thought, to understand the very essence of their being. He was to make them the tools of the Party.

 

\---

  
The old man wasn’t actually that old. He may have greying hairs and wrinkles, but underneath it all, Alec Leamas was just tired and bitter at the world.

He watched through the darkness the tiny glimmering spotlight shining on the body in the snow. _God_ , he thought, _God it’s cold_. He pulled an amulet from his jacket and squeezed it. Warmth flowed through his body, though the emptiness still remained.

He sighed. Riemeck’s body was already showing signs of his powers. Even from this distance, Leamas could see the ice spreading across the frame of his bike. Slowly, he pulled out another amulet from his pocket. It was a chip of ice in a bottle. The dead man had promised that the ice would never melt. It was a piece of Karl Riemeck’s power, a piece of him that he had given Alec when last they’d met. A sort of permitted stealing.

“In case you need to freeze something, or want a little trinket for your desk” he’d said, pushing it into his hands. Despite having the power to control ice, the man’s hands were comfortingly warm.

“I hope to God he's dead.”

Another shot rang out in the darkness, and Riemeck’s body gave a limp jolt as the bullet pierced him.

Leamas sighed and turned to the American watchman. He wasn't sure why he wasn't feeling anything. Maybe he hadn't fully realized what Riemeck’s death meant, or maybe the number of times this had happened over the past month or so had made the experience commonplace. No one cries over spilled milk anymore, no one cries over spilled blood anymore. You can't cry at something you see all the time. “Try and get the body back, alright?” he said. “I don't want the Germans getting their filthy little hands all over the poor sod.”

\---

He was in Control’s office, a musty little affair that was too small to hold all the files packed into its shelves but somehow had managed to maintain the illusion of orderly spaciousness, thanks to Control’s immaculate organization.

George Smiley was there as well, quietly blending into the background as if he were one of Control’s fixtures as well. Of course, Leamas thought, they all were. _Just chess pieces._

Control spoke to him about Berlin. The customary debrief. He was vaguely disappointed, but then again, Control was only ever vaguely anything. But something did sting about the disappointment, like an eyeful of lemon juice.

Then Smiley stepped forward and thanked him for his service and said that the Circus would be in touch about new operations. It was mechanical.

Even the ever shifting eyes seemed to be following a strict pattern. Leamas had once heard Smiley say that Ann had fallen in love with him because of his eyes. First brown, then warm green then dark yellow, brilliant orange, watermelon red, royal purple, strong navy, gentle teal and grey all meshing together, spinning and whirling in a dance. Not that it was a dance anymore. Like a chameleon, Smiley couldn't control his colours. Today the coloured flecks spun mesmerizingly like clock gears, meshing and whirring with strict precision.

No doubt Control was meddling as usual. And it was not as if Alec could do anything about that, so he didn't. Leamas brushed his shirt, checking that the amulet was still there.

Everything felt sour.

Suddenly, Leamas was not sure that he wanted to go for drinks afterwards.

  
\---

He was in Control’s office, a musty little affair that was too small to hold all the files packed into its shelves but had somehow managed to maintain the illusion of spaciousness, thanks to Control’s immaculate organization. 

George Smiley was there as well, quietly blending into the background as if he were one of Control’s fixtures as well.  Of course, Leamas thought, they all were.  _ Just chess pieces _ .

Control spoke to him about Berlin.  The customary debrief. He was vaguely disappointed, but then again, Control was only ever vaguely anything.  But something did sting about the disappointment, like an eyeful of lemon juice.

Then Smiley stepped forward and thanked him for his service and said that the Circus would be in touch about new operations.  It was mechanical. 

Even the ever shifting eyes seemed to be following a strict pattern.  Leamas had once heard Smiley say that Ann had fallen in love with him because of his eyes.  First brown, then warm green then dark yellow, brilliant orange, watermelon red, royal purple, strong navy, gentle teal and grey all meshing together, spinning and whirling in a dance.  Not that it was a dance anymore. Like a chameleon, Smiley couldn't control his colours. Today the coloured flecks spun mesmerizingly like clock gears, meshing and whirring with strict precision.

No doubt Control was meddling as usual.  And it was not as if Alec could do anything about that, so he didn't.  Leamas brushed his shirt, checking that the amulet was still there.

Everything felt sour.

Suddenly, Leamas was not sure that he wanted to go for drinks afterwards.  

  
  


\---

 

It had all culminated in a meeting in a little coffee shop on the corner of Canon Street.  Surprising, how many of the most important of decisions are made at small coffee shops such as this one.  Perhaps it is something about the walls that press in on all sides, simultaneously comforting, allowing a husband to go after his wife, to say sorry, but also claustrophobic and urgent, forcing the old man in the corner to decide not to sell his old wedding ring, the last physical remainder of his passed wife.

There is something else about that coffee shop in particular as well.  It is never too full, nor is it ever too empty. It is impossible therefore to hear another’s conversation, as there is always just enough room between parties sipping their drinks so as not to be overheard as well as an ample amount of gentle noise, the kind that seeps into one’s ears and serves as an effective block against hearing anything beyond a certain radius.  It is the perfect place for a multitude of intelligence officers and office boys to sit down, drink a cup of coffee, have a chat and sometimes, if they're in the mood, to defect. 

Countless officers of the NKVD, MGB, KGB as well as other secret services united under the Warsaw Pact have walked into this coffee shop, only to exit it as new members of the Circus, the CIA or the BCRA.  Further, there have also been quite an embarrassing number of defections to the East through this café in particular, owing to its proximity to the dusty offices of the Circus, which is only a few blocks away.  

Perhaps ironically, the café is named  _ Autour du Monde _ , or in English,  _ Around the World _ , due to its wide and exotic selections of coffee blends and alcohols.

It was an obvious place to treat Alec Leamas to a coffee, a chat, and an invitation to defect, Control and Smiley had decided.  Leamas no doubt would have had his fair share of exciting experiences at the café, exciting experiences that might, if recalled, keep Leamas from giving up his secret work.

On their way to the café, Control asked in a brisk voice, “I want everyone here to be completely honest, so take down your mental shields before we get there.”  With a grumble, Leamas removed an amulet from his neck, a bottle with a tiny ship in it, stuffing it into his pocket. Smiley seemed to do nothing.

Once the three of them had gotten to the coffee shop however, it was clear that Leamas never had any intentions of leaving the Circus anyway.

“Send me back.”  Those were his first words as they sat down.  “Send me back, I can build a new network, I can-”

“Calm down Leamas,” said Smiley, patting him on the shoulder.  The two were old friends, Smiley being a few ranks and a few years ahead of Leamas.  Control thought that perhaps that was why Leamas and Guillam didn't mix. The pair of Smiley and Leamas had flourished during the War, while the pair of Guillam and Smiley was flourishing and receiving even greater praise during this cold one- the one that wasn't even supposed to exist.  Alec had every right to be bitter, but here he was. ‘Send me back’. That was something Alec hadn't said since the War.

“George, you don't understand- only  _ I _ can run Berlin.”  There was a low, desperate, determined animal rasp to his voice.  “I know everything there is to know, there's no one better, so I swear to God,  _ send me back _ .”

Control pursed his lips like a bank teller.  “I'm afraid we can't, Alec.”

Leamas turned his smoldering gaze to Control.  He looked young. They had all arrived at the service at about the same time- early thirties for Control, mid-to-late thirties for Smiley, Hayden, Prideaux and Alleline, but Leamas had been a bit younger, having been recruited in 1940 for SOE.  The man was unkillable. The first time his file had really come to Control’s attention, it had been because he'd almost been murdered twice in Holland but had managed to snag some fantastic intelligence, and  _ then _ , Control remembered, he had gone back for  _ more _ .

“We need you for something else Alec, you're the only one for the job.  The plan hinges on your personal experience along with your unique brand of magic, you understand.  You're our only hope.”

“I don't want-”

“It'll be in Berlin.  You'll get your revenge on Mundt,” Control intervened.  Smiley’s face was unreadable.

Leamas paused for a long while.  Civilizations seemed to rise and fall in his eyes.  Finally, “What exactly is the plan?”

And so Control told them the whole plot to frame Mundt in a low whisper, other eyes sliding off the small group like oil on water.

Smiley seemed to be blending into his seat, while Leamas just leaned forward, rapt with attention.

“You'll meet Fiedler.  I'm sure you've read what little information we have on him, but allow me to catch Smiley up.  The man in particular is a mind reader.”

“As strong as you?”  Leamas asked under his breath.

Control chuckled mirthlessly.  “Actually, no one’s quite sure.  That makes him dangerous. That's why we’re asking you to take one last step out into the cold.”

Smiley itched his nose, hand half covering his mouth as if to block any words he might say.

Control set his coffee to one side.  “With your magic, we’re sure you'll be able to avoid his mental scrutiny, especially since you've made sure that no one on their side knows the full extent of your powers.”

“Alright, but say I'm not strong enough.  Say he slips past my defenses, gets through.  What then?” Leamas pointed an angry finger at Control suspiciously.

“I will hide your memories, even from yourself.  That way, there will be no flaws in your story even if Fiedler breaks through your shield, which he won't,” Control said delicately.

Leamas twitched.  His voice became low and steady.  “Even if I consented to such a trick, what if Fiedler goes through my mind and finds the hidden memories?”

“Enchanters don't find anything if they aren't looking for it,” Control said dryly.  “Trust me.”

Leamas’ face hardened.  “Control, I’d rather not give my mind up for you to fiddle with, so call me back when you've found another way.”  He made to stand.

“Wait, Leamas.”  It was Smiley. He was holding Leamas’ wrist like a father worried that his child would get lost in the crowd.  It was like a lifeline, but no one knew who needed saving. “We really need you for this one, Alec.”

Leamas sat down.  A long, long pause.  

“Alec please.”

Leamas looked over at the toadlike man, worn from years and years of everything.  Nothing like the spry Smiley he had known who bounced merrily down a half blown out German street in 1945, giddy that the Nazis were almost through.  Leamas was stuck somewhere in between. He didn't want to turn into this. Maybe everything would just stop if he took this mission. 

“Fine.  I'll do it.  But only for you, George, and to get revenge, not the sake of this bloody game,” he said, “And afterward,” he growled, turning to Control, “I want Berlin station back, no buts, alright?”

Control nodded solemnly.

“So,” he began derisively, “When do will you start burying my memories?”  

Control glanced at his watch.  “Well, I began as soon as you lowered your shield, which was about an hour ago, so…” he paused, “about ten in the morning.”

Leamas’ face went slack in fear, then his eyes glazed over as if he was gazing away at something far far in the distance.

“You sick son of a bitch,” Leamas mumbled, pitching forward as all strength left him.

Smiley caught him, leaning Leamas back in his chair gently, carefully.  He turned his kaleidoscoping eyes to Control’s with reproach, but said nothing.

  
  
  


 

\---

 

Fiedler was an odd magician. Some higher power had seen fit to bless him with extraordinary gifts of enchantment that could be used to completely dominate the minds and hearts of those around him. He had not, however become a politician or a highly ranking official. He had simply become an interrogator, albeit a highly efficient, ruthless one.

Another odd thing was that the people around him never knew when he was using his powers. In fact, some had begun to believe that he had none, only to be chilled to the bone as Fiedler laughed, his cold eyes boring into theirs, as if he ‘knew what they were thinking’.

What was almost even stranger about him was his philosophy. Most enchanters have a fairly flexible ideological standpoint, a result of being exposed to a multitude of different personalities and memories due to their power. Fiedler on the other hand was ideologically sound- a perfect communist who never doubted the will of the Party. Many who attempted to dissect the reasons for this often found themselves walking with the man down to the park, walking and talking. Sometimes Fiedler would do the talking, soothing away all the memories, all the thoughts and urges and free will that was “so disruptive”. Often they would then find themselves talking, talking, about their friends and family and loved ones and beliefs and religion and what made them hurt inside and what made them laugh and what made them afraid and what made them love and for some reason, they could never stop talking, and Fiedler was there all the while, with his small, satisfied little smile.

Although Fiedler had the capacity to snap a man’s will in an instant, he found it much more enjoyable and effective to seep his intentions into another mind slowly. Much less damage would be done that way, and the power he held over the subject would be more complete.

Many, including Fiedler himself, wondered why he enjoyed the sensation of utter control. Fiedler would usually laugh quietly to himself and blame it on the lack of control he had had during his younger years, during those troubled, disruptive years from 1939 to 1953. Or when he was in a mood, he would blame it on the corruptive nature of all power- power that he along with the communist party was set against.

Magic was good and all, but it provided unequal opportunities. How could Markus, a normal human, possibly be equal to Michal, who could shoot fire from his fingertips? Magic naturally encouraged capitalism, Fiedler believed. But that didn't mean that magic could not be bent to serve communism- many forms of magic were well suited to the ideology, most notably his own.

Especially his own.


	2. Chapter 2

Leamas sat idly at his desk, twiddling his thumbs.  Oh how he hated this place. He understood that, had he failed so badly on the other side of the war, if he’d been an East German handler, everything would have ended with a quick bullet from behind on the night his network had been blown.  

_ Still better than paperwork,  _ he thought in mild disgust.  

Doing the dullest job in the entire Circus had its merits though.  He now knew every single one of every operative’s sob stories. Not that most people hid theirs very well.

Some days Leamas enjoyed strolling up to the senior offices just to ask “how Ann’s been doing”, grinning spitefully as both Hayden and Smiley looked up from their desks nervously.  Other days he felt sorry for Smiley, then on others he felt sorry for Prideaux. 

_ Hayden should keep his dick to himself until he learns how to use it responsibly. _

Not only did he know everything about everyone, but he also knew everything about everywhere in the building.  Leamas had taught himself how to pick a lock without using borrowed magic early on in the war, a trick he was still immensely proud of.  Too many magicians relied on their powers; it became their crutch, their weakness. At the touch of his fingers the entire secret archive had been open to him.  It made fantastic light reading. A few times he even wondered how good the money was for defecting. He certainly knew enough.

Occasionally, every few months, Smiley or Alleline would send him over to the rest of Europe to drop off some money.  Leamas suspected it was out of pity. It was all routine and uneventful, all expenses paid for, and so it was with a vengeful indulgence that Leamas took to going whoring after every money drop.  Control’s cash could pay for whatever little pleasure he could get nowadays.

And then one day he found that his salary was barely enough to cover his expenses, and then upon going through his contract, he discovered that his pension had been slashed.   _ Must be in active duty for the year prior to retirement, my arse,  _ Leamas thought bitterly.

He'd gone to Control about it and all the man had had to say was, “My condolences Alec, but Number 10 is forcing budget cuts the Circus can’t afford, and I would hate to let you go.  Maybe we can find some way to fit you back into an operation, but at the moment…” Control had rambled on quite precisely, so that it was not so much a ramble as a long explanation of nothing of importance.

_ This is bullshit. _

Control was no good, the Circus was no good.

And so it was that he sat at his desk a few months after all Riemeck’s blood had frozen in his veins, bitter, but not half as ironically as before.

Leamas continued to fiddle with his fingers.  It would just be so easy, half of him thought, you know the combinations to every single lock in this shithole.  Yes, he could steal. And he knew how to do it so that no one would notice.

Or he could stick it out and wait for one of the operations Control had talked about.  He glanced at his ever-growing pile of paperwork.

 

* * *

 

 

Leamas lasted about another month before he began discreetly visiting the higher level offices after-hours.  He had been running mostly on personal savings when he first started, his weekly checks barely padding the pockets he was now forced to gouge into, and he'd had enough.

Every week on a Thursday, Leamas would find himself walking up the dusky staircase, twilight dropping in from a stained window.  He would go over to accounting, then management, and find the list with his name and allotted weekly salary. They checked it every Thursday before they left for the weekend, to make sure that everyone was paid the proper amount before they blew their salaries on Friday night drinks.  Then on Friday, the blank men, Control’s ghouls, the ones who had no personality or purpose other than for grunt work, came in and gave the files to the bank. They would then return the files to the desk, where they would be waiting, extremely early on Monday morning, for Leamas to change back.  The key was that the men who took the files to the bank never opened the parcels that contained the ledgers, so Leamas could do whatever he wanted.

Glancing around the empty desks, dust floating through the air like the fairies native to the Amazon, Leamas glanced from side to side cautiously, like an explorer in an empty forest that suddenly hears a noise.

Quietly, he set his briefcase down on one of the desks, drawing out with the barest  _ schliss _ a thin sheet of paper, a perfect copy of the leger save for the line that denoted the wage of a certain A. Leamas.  

A small gush of pride burst inside his stomach, like popping caviar with your tongue.  He hadn't forged anything in months, but he had truly done a fine job this time. 

Carefully, he opened the folder full of ledgers, goodness were there a lot of people the Circus paid, and thumbed his way to the ‘L’ section.  

One more glance around the room, and then he switched his forgery into the binder, noiselessly removing the original.

And then he went home.  It had been good fun that, a real, albeit casual, thrill, which was not something he'd felt in years.  He hadn't operated in the field for far too long.

He'd been doing it for a couple weeks, and his trick was finally beginning to pay off.  They hadn't shut off the electricity for almost a fortnight, and now Alec could actually afford to lose the nasty drinking habit that had become so bad recently.

On this ordinary Thursday night however, Leamas’ plan was about to go to shit, as he might say.

He was just double checking the forged ledger to see if it needed updating, when a small noise burned its way into his ear and down to his stomach.  A light, gentle, quiet, breeze of a footstep.

“Hullo, Guillam,” Leamas said, perfectly calmly.   _ Fuck fuck fuck the lights are off-  _ God _ is that suspicious. _

“Leamas?  What are you doing here so late?”  His voice was a tad unsteady, which made Leamas angry.  Why would Smiley have chosen this indecisive career rat as his protégée?  After all the things that he and Smiley had been through… 

“Needed to check a few things before I left.”  Leamas briskly, but purposefully whipped the files back into his bag.  He could go a week at normal salary if it meant Guillam wasn't suspicious.  Almost unconsciously, he felt in one of his pockets, looking for a ship in a bottle.   _ Where the hell is that damn amulet? _

“Isn't your office,” Guillam paused, “didn't they move it downstairs?”

Leamas gave a characteristic over-exaggerated sarcastic shrug.  “Eleanore said if I looked over some files for her then she'd take me to dinner on Saturday, alright?”  Flimsy.

Guillam nodded slowly.  “What sorts of files?” He wasn't stopping nodding.  

“Boring stuff.  Ledgers mostly. Few about resource management, if you must know.”  It was a pitiful story and both he and Guillam knew it.

“Sounds an awful slog,” Guillam remarked to fill the silence.  Leamas made sure not to put his hands in his pockets. Don't provoke, don't provoke, there's still a way to save it, Leamas thought.

“It is, but Eleanore said we’d go to the chip shop down the road.”  Leamas sighed, shrugging as if that explained everything. “What are you doing here still anyway?  Working late?”

Guillam nodded.  “Control said I needed to stick around a few hours and finish filing a report.  You know how he gets.” He finished with a hollow laugh and an empty silence. Dust floated lazily through the air, following the same gentle slope downwards.

“Well I’d best get going,” Leamas said, hoisting up his bag with a world-weary sigh.  “Scotch won't drink itself,” he said dryly. He made to leave, and saw Guillam’s hand twitch.  Guillam wasn't going to let him go.

He took a step forward, towards the doorway in which the Circus officer was standing.

“Leamas stop.”

_ How polite.  Usually they cast first, question later.  _  Well, that was how it had been when dealing with the Abteilung.

“What are you really doing?” 

“God, Guillam I just told you-”

“Eleanore is going out with Marie on Saturday.  I heard her talking about it.”

_ Well, shit. _

The hesitation lasted barely an instant.  An instant too long. Leamas had barely managed a “Well, Eleanore” before Guillam’s hands flicked up like a conductor’s.  Abruptly, the floating white dust started bobbing in the opposite direction.

_ Shit. _

Guillam had barely called up a hesitant breeze before Leamas tapped his telekinesis amulet, a child’s pink, purple and orange bead bracelet tied around his wrist.  About a dozen stacks of blank paper whizzed angrily through the air, slicing their thin edges on Guillam’s exposed skin.

_ Now where's Control’s goddamn amulet?  _ Leamas thought desperately. It was the only way to contain the situation now.

The wind in the office picked up, whirling Leamas’ paper nuisances around Guillam.   _ Shit, he’s gotten better since last time _ , Leamas thought.  His fingers patted a small bottle.  There it was. 

Leamas whipped it out muttering a swift spell that would connect him to the amulet’s power.  The papers fell to the floor like dying doves, white petals at a wedding. 

He stumbled as Guillam’s wind tied knots around his feet, falling backward into the desk.  Files spilled over the musty carpet. Leamas didn't bother mimicking Control’s careful approach- he slammed his consciousness against Guillam’s, who twitched as his muscles spasmed violently.

_ Halt. _

But Guillam kept moving forward, despite Leamas’ telepathic order.  Alec’s amulet wasn't strong enough- the tiny splash of essence he had gathered from Control, that Control had let him gather, was insufficient to sway Guillam’s trained mind without the proper practice.

Guillam managed to raise a shaky hand.  The fingers wriggled about like Medusa’s writhing locks, each of their own accord.  “Damn you, Leamas,” he managed to spit. Clear fluid was bubbling at the corners of his lips.  Some of it dribbled down onto his chin.

The wind, which had sputtered out a few moments ago returned, slamming Alec to the floor and pinning him there like an invisible hand formed from the frictionless wind.  Alec cursed. He tried to reach for his briefcase, to use one of his amulets to burn it up- but what was the point, really? He’d attacked a high ranking Circus officer- Smiley’s  _ fucking  _ protégée, for God’s sake.  He'd been in the building too late too.  To anyone else, it would reek of a mole. To be fired for simply stealing money would be a much lighter sentence.

Fired.  Expunged.  Let go. Now there was something he'd never have thought possible.  

As Guillam reached down for the briefcase with shaky hands, Alec felt cold.  Who was ‘Leamas’ without the Circus?

_ A bottle _ .   _ I'm just a bottle. _

“Sh-shit, Alec, what the hell,” came Guillam’s voice as he stumbled over towards the desk, the telephone.  Leamas hadn't stopped directing Control’s magic at him. “A-Alec how could you?”’

Leamas heard the telephone dials whir and Guillam curse as his fingers shuddered, forcing him to redial.  

Leamas gave up.  He withdrew Control’s magic back into its container, but then turned his focus to one of the many magicless nick knacks in his pockets.  There was a necklace he'd found on the floor, an earring, an old Deutschmark and a beach stone that had eroded enough so that there was a hole through it.  

He whispered a spell, and the stone with the hole through it gave off a magical buzz- one that Leamas could feel with his mind, rather than with the leg that it was squashed against.  Guillam stopped shaking. He finally managed to dial a number.

Meanwhile, Leamas was, purely by reflex, absorbing Guillam’s wind magic, saving it to fight another day.  He felt the pressure around him loosen slightly, then more, until he could wriggle a hand out from where it was crushed beneath him.  The floor tasted like dust.

Eventually, he had taken in so much of Guillam’s magic that the pressure down on him was barely enough to keep him on the ground, to which Leamas could barely object.  He was such a fucking idiot- stealing from the Circus. He felt ashamed, but at the same time vindicated. It wasn't as if he hadn't been treated like the lowest of the low these past few months.

_ They should have killed me. _ _ Better a quick and honourable one than a drawn out beaten down slog to die in squalor. _

“Hullo?  This is Peter.   _ Peter _ .  Please.  I need to speak to George right now.  It's about a friend at work. It's  _ urgent _ .” 

Guillam looked over between the pause in his speech, seeing Leamas squirm on the floor like a worm after rain.  He looked sick. Guillam raised a hand with a seemingly great deal of effort. The wind barrier reinforced itself, as hard as before.  Leamas had just enough time to snort in derision before the spell constricted his chest, rendering all but the lightest breaths impossible. 

_ Two can play at that game,  _ thought Leamas, redirecting even more of Guillam’s magical power into the amulet.  The small rock started to buzz even louder. 

“Yes- George thank God.  I need you to come back to the office.  It’s Leamas. I think- I think- well you'd better see for yourself.  If you can get ahold of Control too- Yes,” Guillam was saying. He lowered his voice.  “George, Leamas  _ attacked  _ me.  With  _ magic _ .  I've got him held down, but-”

“You haven't got me anywhere, you jumped up little shit,” Leamas swore. 

Guillam spun back to where Alec had been on the floor.  Leamas was standing shakily, leaning against a half-empty shelf.  The binding spell was considerably worn out. Guillam blanched, uttering a faint “How?”.  He shakily raised a hand to cast another air binding spell.

Leamas felt the now familiar constriction of his body and smiled his most wolfish smile, knowing it would unnerve the other magician.  The magic amulet practically twitched from the amount of magic that was being directed into it.  _ God, the kid had a lot of energy. _

“How...?” Guillam repeated as Leamas straightened up, spell growing less and less effective by the moment, barely managing to contain Leamas.  Guillam clutched the telephone almost as if in fear. Leamas did nothing. 

“George, George get here as fast as you can I don’t know how long I can hold him-”

“Oh  _ shut  _ up, Guillam, I won't run, there’s no point.  I just want to look presentable to the colour changing  _ snake _ when he gets here.”  Leamas tried to lean casually on another desk.  He was well and truly fucked, there was no escaping that.  How had he not known Guillam would be staying late? What a fiasco.

With a newly trembling hand, Guillam set down the phone with a quick “hurry”, redoubling his efforts at the wind binding.  A couple of the papers that littered the floor blustered about weakly. Both his arms were outstretched, directed at Leamas.

Leamas cocked an eyebrow.  “Oh come on, Guillam, surely you can do better than that.  Otherwise Smiley has lost his taste completely.” There was no point in being friendly anymore, he was either fired or on his way to prison already, so might as well speak the truth.  “Smiley collects people with  _ interesting  _ powers, Guillam.  What the hell does he see in you?”

Guillam’s face hardened.  “So what? I bet the magic that you’re keeping so secret isn't as fantastic as you think,” he spat bitterly.

Leamas had to contain a snort.  Guillam's anger had resulted in a burst of extra energy that Leamas hadn’t been expecting.  In consequence, he felt the breath squeeze out from him for a moment before he could adjust the redirection of power into the amulet, but Guillam didn't have to know that.  “Of course it isn't, not like Smiley’s and Hayden’s and Esterhause’s, that are powers you’d gawk at on a shelf. Mine is actually useful as well as unique, so-”

“Shut up Leamas, just shut up.”  Guillam seemed offended. More than he ought to be.  After all, Alec had only mildly insulted him.

“I can't believe that after all these  _ years _ ,” Guillam began, “that you of all people would-”

“Damnit Guillam I'm  _ not  _ a defec-”

“Shut up.  Smiley would tell me about you, about how you could outsmart anyone and now you're just-”  Little Peter had a quivering chin. “I used to want to  _ be _ like you!”

“I'm not a defector, damn it,” Leamas growled, spitting words like poison.  “Loyal to the Circus ‘til the end, I just-”

“Then what in God’s bloody name are you doing here?” the younger man said with a hiccup.  

“Ensuring I don't fucking starve to death, that’s what,” Leamas muttered.  The wind binding his arms seemed to loosen a fraction.

“You… what?”

“Jesus, Guillam what kind of idiot are you?” Leamas asked, then, when Peter remained silent, he went on.  “After my fuckup in Berlin, Control decided to slash my wages and my pension. I get screwed over because maybe this time, Mundt was just too good.”

Was it Leamas’ imagination, or did Guillam turn guiltily pale at the mention of Berlin?  Then his face hardened.

“Oh come on, you expect me to believe the Circus would leave you penniless?

Leamas cackled dryly.  “They left me just enough money for me to afford drinking myself into an early grave.  That's the way Circus does it here. In Germany they'd shoot you for something like that, but in cheery little England they don't want that kind of negative publicity.  Better to believe the only martyrs come from the other side of the wall. Makes it easier to pretend we’re better.”

Guillam looked shaken.  He looked like a man who wanted to disagree but had realized that he couldn't.

“Better fired for stealing than branded as a traitor,” Leamas muttered. 

“Look, Leamas-”

Heavy footsteps thudded urgently up the stairs, and Smiley burst in.  He was out of breath, the skin around his eyes shifting to a dark purple, blending in with the musty offices.

“Leamas, get away from him,” he commanded.  “He’s dangerous.” Leamas laughed as Guillam’s shoulders curved in slightly.

“Actually George,” Guillam said, like a student trying to impress, “I’ve got him trapped.”  

Smiley raised an eyebrow at that.  

Leamas’ eyes flicked to him.  “I’ve been humouring him,” he said.  He grinned widely as he watched Guillam try and figure out if he was being serious or not.

Smiley’s voice was cold.  “What are you doing here, Leamas?”  

“Securing my pension,” Leamas spat bitterly.

Smiley let out a long, long sigh and walked through the piles of scattered papers to the telephone on the desk.  “Do you think you can hold him for another while?” he asked Guillam. 

The other man nodded.  “Of course.”

Smiley dialed the number slowly, carefully.  He held the piece to his ear. “Control? This is Smiley.”

A long, long silence as Smiley listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a short, brief, painful affair.  Leamas found that there wasn't much to say about it- not much he  _ could  _ say about it.  A stem of thorns ran up the back of his throat whenever he thought about the Circus.  His home. He didn't know what he would do now.

Life found him a few weeks later, applying for a small job at a small library.  He’d moved to a small room in a small apartment block with a small shower, small windows and a small sink.

He wasn't really sure what to do with his small life anymore.

There were two other people at the library.  A middle aged crow of a woman and a pretty thing with a pretty name.

It wasn't until the third day on the job that he actually  _ met _ Liz Gold.  The old crone had always assigned them to different bookshelves, as if trying to keep them separate.  

But Liz’ fingers were quick on the books and in the ledgers, so she made it all the way to Leamas’ shelf before lunch time.  

“Hello,” she said.  “Your name is Alec, right?”

His name fit in her mouth.  It felt odd. He was so used to strangers calling him Leamas.  Alec wasn't nervous, of course he wasn't nervous at being approached by this girl.  He thumbed an amulet in his pocket with a thumb.

He muttered a quick “yes”.  Maybe she would get scared and would leave.  He didn't know why he felt so nervous.  _ Shut up, I'm not nervous. _

She smiled sweetly.  “I'm Liz, but I think you knew that already.”

Leamas nodded, letting out another brisk “yes”.

“Well it’s a tradition to invite the new employee to lunch.  The lady before you, Emily, she invited me to this place just down the road,” Liz said.  Her smile bordered upon infectious.

Leamas bit the inside of his cheek.  A small noise of hesitation dragged at the back of his throat.  She stared at him expectantly. He couldn't bear to wipe that bubbly smile from her face.  “I- Alright,” he said. Jesus, was that what he sounded like?

Her smile brightened.  Leamas hadn't thought it could.  Liz Gold surprised him.

“Wonderful,” she said.  “We can go in about ten minutes, but she,” and here Liz glanced over at the hawkish woman at the counter who they could barely see through the forest of bookshelves, “doesn’t like us to go until we finish the shelf we’re on.”

Leamas nodded, head buzzing, turning back to his shelf.  Liz reminded him of the best parts of his wife.  _ Ex-wife. _

 

* * *

 

 

Liz sat him down at the grubby table, still wearing that mischievous grin.  The chair had a ghost of greece on it, but Leamas didn't mind.

“So, what did you used to do before coming to the library?” she asked, waving to the waiter in recognition.

Alec shrugged.  “The place I worked was mostly paperwork, but they do correspondence work with a firm in Germany-

Liz’ eyes lit up.  “Which one?” she asked.

“West, but they used to send me there  _ years _ ago, before the wall, so-”

“You’ve  _ been _ there?”  Her eyes were wide. 

“A few times, and I didn't spend nearly as much time there as I’d have liked.”  Vague, vague, keep it vague.

Liz stopped questioning Alec, sighing, “I’ve always wanted to see Germany.  It's supposed to be beautiful.”

“Half of it is, anyway,” Leamas chuckled, expecting Liz to join in.  She smiled, a bit embarrassed, but didn't laugh. Leamas noticed but said nothing.

“You're really something, Alec,” she said, head perched on hand.  Her eyes lit up. “If you've traveled, then you must have met  _ magicians _ ,” she said.  Alec wondered how anyone could have so much youthful enthusiasm.

A few.”

“Oh tell me about them  _ please _ ,” she said.  

Leamas gave her a begrudging smile.  God she was  _ infectious _ .  “Some had very strange magic.  There was one man, he could change the temperature of air, make it hot or cold.  He would always be wearing all this formal-wear even when it was boiling. You wouldn't think it was very useful but he used it so creatively,” Leamas said, pausing for a moment to remember how de Jong’s car had broken down about a three hours’ drive outside Berlin.  They'd had a drop to get to in a hurry and so de Jong had used his powers to compress and expand the gas in the car engines. Soon they were chugging along at a breakneck pace, de Jong visibly sweating for the first time that Alec could remember. They'd even been early to the drop.

“And then there was this other man, whose eyes would change colour when he was thinking.  Like a chameleon I think. He could just,” and here Leamas shrugged, “blend in with the background.  If he didn't move, it would be impossible to spot him.”

Liz looked on in fascination, nodding.

“And there are some with more normal powers, like this man I knew in Berlin, he could freeze anything.  Used to be a riot at parties. He’d freeze icicles in people’s wine, and if the chocolate fondue was too hot for the ladies then he'd take the prong-thing-”

Liz smiled at ‘prong-thing’.  Her smile was distracting.

“And… and give them back a frozen treat,” he finished lamely.  Riemeck and his party tricks and the way his twitchy little moustache and eyelashes would freeze if he got too excited.  An absolutely smashing man on either side of the wall.

“That’s amazing,” Liz said.  “I wish I could meet a magician.  Maybe we could go traveling together.”  Her attention came back to Leamas. ”Do you know what you want to order?” she asked.

Alec smiled.  Liz was very stream-of-consciousness.  Honest and pure and sweet. He wanted to braid her hair.

“I’ve never been here.  What's good?” he asked.

“On a scale of three little peppers to no little peppers,” Liz said, indicating the grubby little menu card, “how much spice can your mouth take?”

Liz loved spicy food.  It fit, really. Nothing about her could possibly be bland.  She was dangerously interesting and terribly good company, even for a noncommittal, sour man like Alec.

Liz didn't like vindaloo, but she did like the spiciest lamb biriyani, three little peppers.  Leamas decided to ask for something more mild, and Liz finally settled on ordering him a plain Saag Paneer with naan.  

It was delicious.  Liz made Leamas try a nub of lamb.  Leamas almost drowned himself in his water glass.

“Mrs. Crail thinks you're up to no good,” Liz said merrily.  

“Maybe she’s right.”   _ Dear  _ God _ , Alec, are you really flirting with a lady half your age?  Shut up, she’s not half your age- _

Liz snorted.  “No proof,” she said, scooping up another mouthful of rice.  “So it can’t be real. Do you live nearby?”

“I have a flat about thirty minutes away.  Not the best, but neither is my pay, so-”

Liz burst out laughing.  “My  _ God _ , Alec, you’re a riot,” he giggled.  “What  _ would _ you consider good pay anyway?”

Alec evaded the questions that touched too close to home quite easily, but he found her curiosity endearing nonetheless.  Endearing enough perhaps that he, maybe, despite all reservations, perhaps walked back to the library with her. And then maybe talked with her all the next day, and then the next, spilling half-stories and ones from the good old days and then the cold old days.

“Are you sure that you’re not a magician?”

“If I were a magician, would I not have used my,” Alec twirled his fingers dramatically, “Sorcery to get myself a better paying job?”

Liz snorted.  “It’s always money with you isn’t it?”

Alec was indignant.  “I’ll have you know that I fought in the  _ War _ , young missy,” he scoffed.  “It’s money for capitalist Britain!”

Giggling, Liz nudged her shoulder into Leamas’.  “Well I suppose if you really were a magician, you’d hardly condescend to fraternizing with a lowly peasant like me, what with being an aristocratic pig and all that.” 

Leamas broke into a wide grin, like making an omelette.  “Ah yes,” he said, putting on a ridiculous upper class accent.  “At the Cambridge Faculty of Magic we often had to associate with the rabble like you.  I’d much prefer to mingle with the rest of my inbred cousins, thank you very much.” To further the mimicry of an old friend of his, Alec wrinkled his nose in disgust and added a little “Ugh…”

Liz laughed at full volume, inciting an angry “Shhh!” from Mrs. Crail who was a few aisles away.

“God, I could imagine you in one of those penguin suits, going to those ball things they do there.  The accent…” Liz cackled, “Utterly bourgeois. You sound like a Cambridge student. Probably one who does… Art history.”

“Oxford actually,” Leamas said, mock-pompously, but in reality perfectly truthful.

Liz giggled again.  “You’re really something, Alec, you really, really are.”

Leamas wasn’t exactly sure when he realized that, as a woman, Liz was beautiful.  It all sort of happened, as if he had been in love with her all along. First, they’d been talking and then Alec had noticed that she had hair.  And eyes. And lips. Even so, it was all so secondary to her personality. Leamas felt his stomach lurch whenever he saw that inquisitive look in her eye.  It seemed to him that her eyes captured the image of a freshly opened champagne bottle- bubble-bubble fizzy glee. The worst thing was that he hadn’t wanted to ruin the look in her eyes by telling her he felt the same way.

And then he got sick.

Leamas had been lying in bed, the sheets sticking horribly to his wet skin, when he heard a sharp splintering, and then the door clattered open.  He’d been working at the library for a few weeks and Liz had been around several times for dinner. It was always only dinner. Alec felt he’d ruin everything with Liz if he made the first move.

“Alec?”

“Wh-Aye?” He croaked back.

“Jesus Alec, you look in a right state.  Here. I’ll get you some…”

“Nothing in the fridge,” Leamas mumbled.

“I’ll be right back then,” she whispered, setting down the majority of her things.  Leamas fell into a doze and woke to hear the popping of butter in a frying pan. She was frying onions for soup.  Leamas’ apartment was so small that he privately referred to it as his little Soviet flat. From his bed, he could see straight through the door into the kitchen where Liz stood, her back to him.

“You smashed my door,” Leamas coughed.  Liz nodded, her hair swinging through the misty kitchen air.  “You’re welcome,” she said. “I’d be glad to do it anytime.”

“You really didn’t have to,” Leamas protested weakly.  

“It was either make sure you got back to work, or I arrange twice my usual number of shelves.  I’m only working in my own self interest, like a rational capitalist.”

Leamas tried to conceal his hearty laugh as a hacking cough.  It failed gloriously.

Similarly, Liz’ attempts at spoon feeding Alec failed spectacularly.  Scalding broth spilled all down Alec’s front, making him yelp and dash for the shower like a dog.

“You’re cured!” Liz said, peering around the side of the bathroom door as Leamas tugged his shirt off over his head.  “Look at you, you’re standing up, taking a shower, and all those things that real people do.”

Leamas grunted and drew the shower curtains around him.  “It’s inappropriate to watch a naked man taking a shower.  Shoo.” She pushed the door shut gently.

Everything was quieter after that.  Perhaps it was because at some point the sun went down, and the two were forced to share dinner; pasta, more fried onions, tomato.  Liz broke the silence first.

“You have magic, don’t you?”

“No, why do you say that?” Leamas kept his tone measured.  The lie made him wince as if there were a small stone in his shoe.

She seemed to deflate slightly.  “You keep odd talismans. Like that bracelet.  It looks like it’s for a little girl. And you didn’t take off any of your necklaces before you went into the shower, as if you needed them for protection.”  Leamas blinked in surprise. Liz was more perceptive than he’d thought.

“My daughter made this bracelet.  She and her brother live with my ex-wife now.”  He held up the hand with the pink and orange bracelet.  Then, he pulled one of the talismans out from under his nightshirt.  “My son gave me this. It’s a good luck charm. To keep me warm when I used to go to all those nordic countries when they only get a few hours of sunlight every day.”  He indicated a jet black stone on a string. “I collect these from people.”

“You have children?”  A mild eyebrow-raise.

“I don’t deserve them.”  Leamas muttered wryly. “I’m not a very good father.”

“It sounds like you love them very much.”  Each word was said with care.

The conversation fluttered as Leamas turned to stare into Liz’ warm eyes.

“You think that well of me?” he asked.  It was his turn to raise his eyebrows.

“I think the world of you, Alec.”  Liz gave a little smile. Her lips looked like a flower opening up for springtime. 

Wordlessly, the two drifted over to Leamas’ small bed, their heads close together as if they were performing a symbolic scene in a play.  Liz murmured a “would you?” to which Alec gave a small exhalation: “wouldn’t I?” Ever so gently, as if he’d never done it before, Alec unbuttoned Liz’ shirt and slipped it off her shoulders.  Her breath created warm spots up his neck. His face was burning as he placed his hands over her ribs, sliding them around to undo the hooks of her underclothes. The bra fell into Leamas’ arms.  It was warm and smelled of cheap laundry detergent.

Leamas gulped.  He’d never cared so much about something like this before, having always been able to initiate the… the….

Liz was something out of a fairy tale.  Dark hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the moonlight somehow.  Delicately, Leamas pushed her backwards, nestling her between himself and the bed.  His head rested on a perfect breast.

“I think I love you, Liz.”

She laughed, and Alec, suddenly self conscious of how grey his hair was and how tired he was and how old and crumbling he was, felt himself go all red.

“Your hair feels like a scourer,” she said.

“Yours feels like floating down the Amazon river,” he replied.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, they exited Alec’s apartment arm in arm.  A few blocks before they came within sight of the library, Liz went on ahead, while Alec dawdled and took a roundabout route.  It wouldn’t do for the old bird to learn of their affair.

The day’s work went by swiftly as the two passed each other meaningful glances between empty spaces in the bookshelves.  Liz could barely keep a straight face, and Alec made a game of sneaking up behind her when Mrs. Crail took her breaks. Each time they passed each other with an armful of books, he bent to plant a kiss on her forehead and swore when a book slid off the pile in his arms.

It was pay-day, and so both Liz and Alec went to the bank to withdraw their weekly budget.  When Alec tried to cash in his cheque however, the dopey little man behind the counter said that the transaction was problematic and to come back in three months when the problem would be fixed.  Seething, but not boiling over for Liz’ sake, Alec replied that his savings wouldn’t last three weeks, let alone three months. He’d wanted to buy Liz some flowers. 

After the third week, Leamas began running on fumes, feeding a nasty debt with the grocer and the electricity company.  Liz wanted to lend -  _ You can pay me back, Alec, I swear to god, I know you’re good for it  _ \- but he was too proud to accept it from her.

“See, if we were in Russia right now, you wouldn’t have this problem,” she said one night as they huddled around a pot of Liz’ best soup.

Leamas snorted.  “If we were in Russia, I wouldn’t have this problem because there would be nothing in the grocer’s for me to rack up debt on.”

Liz looked vaguely put out.  “Oh come on, it wouldn’t be  _ that _ bad,” she said.  “Plus, we wouldn’t have to put up with being human cattle for the magicians.”

Leamas was felt an odd tingling at the back of his neck, as if he were a tuning fork that had just been struck.  He and Liz had never discussed politics much in depth, but Leamas realized that every time they had raised the subject of capitalism, she had always mocked it, whether it be through sarcasm or hyperbole.  It had been the butt of all their jokes, and Leamas realized now that his own disillusionment with the ideology had made him seem like a sympathiser to communism himself. 

“I could marry whoever I wanted, even if they were a magician,” Liz continued, not noticing Leamas’ own revelation.  Her eyes seemed to hold an entire galaxy, filled as they were with stars.

“You could do that here,” Leamas interjected, voice a little damp.  He cleared his throat. 

“Could I?  Would there be  _ any _ way to marry a magic user?  A man with brains and a background wealthy enough to get him into Oxford or Cambridge?  A man from cream that floats to the top of the rest of high society?” Liz shook her head simply, sadly.  Alec was about to tell her everything, that he was at least three of the four things she had mentioned, but she continued.  “Their class doesn’t want anything to do with us. We interact with them only by necessity.” And that too was true, Leamas thought.  Before his falling out with the Circus, he had never thought it would be possible to fall this far down. “But over there,” she continued, “the State steps in, and everyone has the chance to show that we aren’t all that different, the gifted and the have-nots.”

Leamas leaned back in his chair, which creaked comfortably.  He settled on a mild jibe. “I had no idea you were communist, Liz.”  There was a smile in his voice, and she didn’t seem to sense Alec’s slight unease.

She sighed, grinning too.  “Neither do my parents.” She laughed secretively, as if the parents in question were just in the other room, and the sound was so infectious that Leamas joined in too.

Did he think any less of Liz Gold for her political affiliations?  Yes, it was confusing, and yes, she didn’t seem to understand communism’s nastier aspects, but once Leamas was forced to consider where she would lie politically, he had to admit that she did not have the cynicism, selfishness or conformism to be anything but loyal to his once sworn enemy.  Considering his treatment at the Circus’ hands, he wasn’t sure that the West had much more to offer him than the East. And he loved her.

 

* * *

 

 

It was early the next day, and Leamas had gotten up early to buy Liz a present.  He left her a note:  _ I’ve just gone out to the grocer’s, the little fucker.  See you at work. _  Near the market’s checkout register, Leamas had often observed a do-it-yourself bouquet service, which was the reason for his visit to the grocers.  He arrived bleary eyed and half-awake, unable to think a few minutes forward in time.

“Yes, the poppies.  Great big bunch of them.  For a lady. And throw in a few, a few…” he struggled, “buttercups.”  Red and gold, fly the flag of Lenin, and on to the worldwide revolution, because I love Liz who will… His thoughts hiccuped as he found himself at the cash register.  

“‘llo Alec,” said the grocer.  He looked as if he hadn’t slept.  “No roses?”

Leamas wrinkled his nose as if it itched.  He couldn’t afford  _ roses _ , and anyway, he told himself, Liz would think they were too cliché.  Alec was already imagining her reaction- one of mock annoyance- why would you get them in Soviet colours, Alec, they’re not even my favourite -but concealing a deep joy because of course they were secretly her favourite.  

“Alec.  Alec?”

“Hmph?”  He’d drifted off.  

“‘Said it’s two fifty for the flowers.”

“I… Can I go on credit.”  He didn’t phrase it as a question, really.

The grocer sighed.  “Look ‘ere, Alec. I’ve been trying real hard to keep y’ credit open, ‘special for the essentials, but when you go ‘round buyin’ flowers for ye missus, I just can’t go on credit for that.  Gotta stick to policy.”

“You know I’m good for it-”

“Nah, Alec, I really don’t.  I’m sorry, but I’d shit myself if I b’lieve that you’ve had bank trouble for months now.”

“Come with me to the bank, and it’d be my greatest pleasure to watch you take the biggest goddamn shit of your life,” Leamas retorted.  He forced himself to relax his grip on the flower stems, lest they choke. 

“No more credit, Leamas,” the grocer snarled, jovial tone nonexistant.

“Fuck that, I need these!” Alec spat.  He was only half awake, and the flowers seemed the only way to show Liz how much he loved her.  

“Don’ you dare… In  _ my _ store…” The protests blurred, until all Alec could really make out was a red-faced man in an apron waggling a hand at him as if he had been insulted in some way.  His automatic reflexes kicked in.

“I need them because I love her, and that’s what you do when you love someone, give them flowers.  I guess you never gave your wife any flowers, seeing as she’s a donkey and all,” Leamas said in a conversational tone that carried throughout the entire store.  “A waste of money, seeing as the ass would only end up eating the roses!”

To his credit, the grocer kept his cool, otherwise it would have been he that would have gone to jail that morning.  He simply said, “You’re stepping out with a  _ whore _ , Leamas, but you’re broke, so you have to pay in borrowed flowers.”

At that point, Leamas lost it.  Until that point, he’d had the upper hand, but at the insinuation that the grocer thought ‘whore’ every Monday when Liz came into his shop to buy milk and eggs, Leamas became furious.  He was not aware of whipping the flowers across the grocer’s face as if he thought they were a cane, and only realized that his fingers were cutting into the man’s windpipe when saliva dribbled down onto his hands.

“Get off him!” A lady shrieked.  

But a vicious look had spread across Leamas’ face.  His teeth were bared in a snarl, lips curled up in disgust.  He wanted to rip open the man’s skin with his fingernails, get blood stuck under them-

_ SMASH! _

Leamas fell unconscious in a rain of glass.  The lady manning the flower stall had cracked him over the head with a large glass vase.  When the police came, they found Leamas laying in a pool of diamond fragments and poppy petals.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this does not count towards the Alec/Liz production quota)

**Author's Note:**

> if you can't write the diddly doo, write the MENTAL diddly doo


End file.
